


i just want your dirty love

by folignos



Category: Hockey RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2582792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandon hears Patrick before he sees him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i just want your dirty love

**Author's Note:**

> me: i know i should be writing [x]'s birthday fic but what i really want to write is patrick sharp getting eaten out until he cries  
> jenna: you should absolutely do that
> 
> so, uh that's how i spent my evening
> 
> this is just porn. that's literally it.
> 
> i would apologise but i'm not sorry at all.
> 
> inspired by [this gr8 (nsfw) gif](http://33.media.tumblr.com/1f6580ca38d0f298bf31089b9969b60a/tumblr_na0dz4dxn91tz6aq3o1_r1_500.gif)
> 
> thanks to jenna for reading through this and shrieking incoherently at me (and then fixing my wonky sentences)
> 
> title from dirty love by kesha. i'm still not sorry

Brandon hears Patrick before he sees him.

He lets himself into the apartment quietly, and he’s about to shout a greeting when he hears a choked off moan coming from the bedroom. He lets the door click shut and toes his shoes off. He pads into the kitchen with the groceries and sets them down, unwinding the scarf from his neck and shedding his coat on the kitchen table.

Patrick’s bedroom door is wide open. Brandon skirts around the couch. The noises are getting louder. He reaches the doorway and just stops. He’s pretty sure his jaw drops open.

Patrick is on his stomach on the bed, back arched. His knees are drawn up close to his belly and spread wide. Brandon can see everything.

There’s a brown belt knotted around his wrists. Brandon’s mouth goes a little dry. His fingers glisten with lube as they slide in and out of him easily, two and then, as Brandon stands there, three, stretching and scissoring.

He gets louder when that third finger is added, whining deep in his throat, unashamed. He has no idea Brandon’s here.

Brandon’s already halfway to hard, starting to tent his jeans. His hands are in fists beside him. He’s never seen Patrick like this before. They’ve been fucking for a few weeks, but Brandon’s never topped, never even gotten a little bossy with him. Even that time Patrick made him open himself up and ride him was still one hundred percent Patrick’s show. Brandon guesses this is all Patrick’s show too. Just not one he thought was ever possible.

Patrick’s hips stutter, and his noises get more erratic. He twists his fingers and burrows his head into the sheets. They do almost nothing to muffle the noise. Brandon watches all the muscles in his back tense up, watches him rubbing off against the sheets and knows he’s seconds away from coming.

‘Patrick.’ He doesn’t mean to say it, but he does, and Patrick freezes. His chest is heaving. Brandon moves closer.

Patrick turns his head so his cheek is pressed against the bed. ‘Brandon,’ he says, breathy, almost gasping it. ‘Brandon. I thought, thought you’d be longer.’

‘So did I,’ Brandon says. He can’t stop staring at Patrick’s fingers stretching himself wide. ‘Can I,’ he pauses, tries to wet his lips. ‘Can I touch you?’

‘Please God yes,’ Patrick says, and Brandon’s on the bed before he’s even finished speaking, running the flat of his hand up Patrick’s spine towards the nape of his neck. He grips Patrick’s dark, thick hair and gives it a gentle tug, listens to him hiss, watches his free hand ball up into a fist. He tugs again, lifts his head up until his throat is bared, watches him swallow slowly.

He lets his head drop, runs his hands down again, traces his fingertips around the knot in the belt, across the soft underside Patrick’s wrists. He’s trembling.

‘Move your hand,’ Brandon says. Patrick pulls his fingers out and moves his wrists until the belt slackens, and he crosses them at the small of his back. Brandon runs his thumb through the trail of lube on his perineum, rubs at the ring of muscle there until Patrick cants his hips.

‘Please,’ he says, over and over. ‘Please, Brandon.’

Brandon parts his cheeks a little more, digs the tip of both thumbs into Patrick and holds him open, just a little. Patrick’s breath catches.

Brandon settles onto his heels and dips his head down, flicks the tip of his tongue just barely inside Patrick. He swears, and Brandon feels his thigh muscles tense.

He does it again and again until Patrick’s making these tiny, almost inaudible breathy sounds. Brandon smiles, rubs his scruff against the sensitive skin in the crease between Patrick’s ass and his thighs before pressing the flat of his tongue just above his balls and licking long, slow strokes up over his rim. He gets louder then, loud enough that Brandon actually kind of worries about the neighbours overhearing them, and he pulls away.

‘Babe,’ he says, pressing a kiss to the curve of his ass. ‘Babe, you have to be quiet, people are going to hear you.’

His breaths are shaky, juddering, like hes a hairsbreadth away from a sob, but he takes one deep breath and another, tries to get himself under control. Brandon presses another soft kiss just against his rim, and goes back to short, sharp stabs of his tongue, digging his fingers into the meat of his ass, pushing his thumbs in deeper. He’s quieter now, but Brandon’s pretty sure he’s gone from gasping to outright sobbing, like he can’t catch his breath. It’s fucking amazing, Brandon thinks, getting to take him apart like this.

His hands aren’t crossed anymore, they’re fisted and straining at the belt so hard that Brandon actually worries he might tear the leather, or damage his wrists. He fucks his tongue into Patrick once more, and curls the very tip of it, so it catches when he pulls it out, and Patrick’s back arches at that, making a long, gorgeous line of muscle that Brandon wants to bite his way across.

His ass and upper thighs are red and blotchy from where Brandon’s beard has been rubbing against the sensitive skin there, and when he presses his thumb into Patrick gently, there’s almost no resistance.

Brandon wants to fuck him so much it aches.

Instead, he takes one hand, and closes it around both wrists, squeezes tight enough that he stops struggling, tight enough that it’s probably going to bruise.

‘Brandon,’ Patrick says, watery and thin and so close to the edge. ‘Brandon, please.’

‘I know, babe, I know. You’re doing so good, you looks so good like this.’

Patrick turns his head again. His eyes are screwed shut, but Brandon can see his eyelashes clumped together, the tear tracks carving down his face.

Brandon slides three fingers from his free hand into his mouth and sucks, hard, flicks his tongue around until they’re wet, and slides the first one into Patrick without ceremony. Patrick sighs, almost in relief, and tilts his hips again.

Brandon crook it, slides it out, and then adds the second finger. It goes just as easy, and there’s not a lot of resistance when he scissors them, but Patrick jerks forward, says, ‘Close, close.’

Brandon grins. He adds a third finger, and that’s where he starts to feel the stretch. He has bigger hands than Patrick, thicker fingers, and even if Patrick’s been opening himself up already, it’s still more from Brandon.

‘God,’ Patrick says, sighing out the word, spreading his knees just a little bit further. Brandon tightens his grip on Patrick’s wrists and twists his own wrist, pushing his fingers deeper into Patrick, again and again.

It’s not long before he comes, curling in on himself as he cries out Brandon’s name and makes a mess of the sheets. He goes limp, afterwards, slumping down. Brandon pulls his hand out and wipes it on the already dirty sheets, undoes the belt around Patrick’s wrists with shaking hands. He’s so hard he’s a little dizzy with it. Patrick rolls over, loose-limbed and heavy. There are still tears on his face but he has that lazy, well-fucked smile that Brandon knows, that Brandon fuckin’ loves on him.

Brandon moves to straddle him hips lightly, picks up one wrist and rubs it gently, then the other, until Patrick opens his eyes, and his smile gets a little more focused. ‘Hey,’ he says, mumbly.

‘Hey you,’ Brandon says, smiling softly. ‘Was that good for you?’ He lets go of Patrick’s wrists, and he stretches, arching his back and shifting his hips into Brandon’s erection.

‘So good,’ Patrick says, and then he looks down at Brandon’s dick. ‘Can I?’

Brandon unbuttons his shirt, undoes his belt, pulls it out of the loops and pops the button, tugs the zipper down.

Patrick’s eyes go a little wide when he realises Brandon’s not wearing underwear.

Brandon’s dick curves up when he frees it from his jeans, already damp at the tip, and he shuffles closer to Patrick, leans over him to he can get a better angle without fucking up his wrists.

Patrick has such good hands on the ice, quick and accurate and devastating, and that’s no different here. He jerks Brandon off without any fancy tricks, just long, simple strokes that have Brandon bracing himself with one hand on Patrick’s sternum and the other buried in the pillow behind his head.

He leans down and kisses Patrick fiercely. He tastes a little of saltwater, but he bites at Brandon’s lips like he always does, and smirks when Brandon gasps. He comes quickly; neither of them interested in prolonging it, and he stripes Patrick’s stomach and chest as far as the hollow of his throat. He pushes his fingers through it afterwards, watches the way Patrick’s eyes tighten, just a little.

He falls to the side without the wet spot and kicks his jeans off the rest of the way, shuffles out of his shirt, and curls into Patrick’s side, mess and all. He kisses his collarbone, and up the side of his neck to the hinge of his jaw. He can feel him smiling.

‘Hey,’ he says again. ‘You okay?’

‘You broke me,’ Patrick says. His eyes are hooded. ‘I’m broken. I can’t move.’

Brandon laughs. ‘Does that mean we can’t go for round two in a minute?’

Patrick opens his eyes properly. ‘Round two? There can’t be a round two in a minute, there isn’t even going to be a round two at all, I’m not going to be able to get it up ever again in my entire life, after that.’

‘Drama queen,’ Brandon says, nipping at his shoulder. ‘Old man.’

‘Brat,’ Patrick chides. ‘We can’t all be twenty two and virile.’

Brandon tilts his head and grins up at him. ‘You love it.’

Patrick makes a considering noise, before leaning down and kissing him on the lips chastely. ‘I guess it’ll do.’

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr](http://toewses.tumblr.com) for more hockey hijinks (and saad/sharp)


End file.
